


The day it all changed

by Monalisasandmadhatters20



Category: Rocketman (2019), Rocketman (2019) RPF
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Dom/sub Undertones, Domestic Violence, Drug Use, JohnReidSucks, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-02
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-07-29 11:21:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 12,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20081371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Monalisasandmadhatters20/pseuds/Monalisasandmadhatters20
Summary: In which a man struggles with himself, his demons, and a very eccentric best friend...





	1. Even Drunk Bernie Knows He's Wrong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't expect to start anything so soon, but I can't seem to get enough of this fandom and pairing. Hope it is enjoyable. Kudos and comments are most welcome!

_ People don’t pay to see Reginald Dwight. They pay to see Elton John! Don’t ever tell me how to do my fucking job! _

Bernie sat in his private jet, replaying the scene from backstage over and over in his mind. He downed his vodka and tonic in one gulp, ringing the stewardess for another. He lost count how many drinks he had had so far, but was sure he would regret them all come morning. 

He leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes, seeing John with his hands all over a bloody stranger, knowing Reggie could see him, knowing Reggie was about to hit the stage, and knowing Reggie had just self-medicated to be able to perform to John’s exacting standards. How he wished he had punched that smirk off the bloody prick...

_ Oh! Just write the fucking lyrics, Bernie. Let me take care of the rest. _

_ Yes, _ Bernie thought, downing yet another drink.  _ You are doing a right good job as is, aren’t you, love? _

Yes, Elton may be the top selling artist in both the UK and the United States. Yes, he may be playing sold out shows, and also be responsible for five percent of all record sales across the world, but he was still, deep down, Reggie Dwight. The sweet and terribly confused young man who needed help, whether he saw it or not.

_ I’m sorry _ , Reg had said, grasping his hand. Bernie brought his hand to his mouth, kissing the back of his hand gently, and whispered  _ I know. _ Because he DID know. He was not Elton then. He was his sweet, sweet Reggie. His best friend, his brother,  _ his love _ . 

Bernie hoped one day he would get the courage to tell Reggie all that was in his heart. His biggest regret in his life was pulling away on the rooftop of Arabella’s flat all those years ago.

Bernie got to his feet. He needed to speak to the pilot about a change of course. He was silly to have run. Not when Reggie was hurting.


	2. Before he loses his nerve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't expect to start anything so soon, but I can't seem to get enough of this fandom and pairing. Hope it is enjoyable. Kudos and comments are most welcome!

He hailed a cab the moment he exited the airport. He could almost recall the name of the hotel Reggie was staying for the week in his inebriated state. He would check in himself, sleep off the damn poison, and start again on the morrow. He had the cabbie stop at the local pharmacy. He would need pain-relief for the morning to be able to get anything done, he knew.

Looking in his billfold when they stopped in front of the Hyatt, he could barely make sense of the bills. His vision was still quite blurred. He probably left a hefty tip, but found he could not care any less. It made the cabbie exclaim in delight. He was glad someone could be happy that evening. 

He stumbled into the lobby, and to the customer service desk, and booked himself a room without further embarrassment upon himself.

He collapsed on the bed fully clothed, the idea of changing almost alien to him. He had downed some pain-relief and forced himself to drink a large glass of water. He was asleep in moments, thankful he had not had time (yet) to rethink his decision.

*******************

He entered the small dining hall situated off the lobby, and scanned the crowd. He knew it would be unlikely Reg was up this early, nevermind in the hotel restaurant. That would be too bloody easy.

He sat and sipped at his black coffee, trying to feel more human. He preferred a nice Earl Gray in the morning, but when in America, he adapted to social norms. He always hated bringing unneeded attention to himself.

His head did not hurt nearly as much as he had expected. He found himself thanking whatever God for small favors.

After a light breakfast of eggs and fruit, he made his way back to his suite. His stomach would not handle anything heavier. He needed a hot shower and to take a shave. He also needed to prepare a speech for the evening so he wouldn't miss his opportunity. 

He would definitely corner Reg after the show, though. Unlike Reid, he would not bring unneeded stress upon Reg.

_ The bloody wanker _…

*****************

"Name?"

"Bernie Taupin."

The security guard hummed, and began to flip through the papers in his clipboard. Much, much too slowly for Bernie's taste. Bernie began to feel quite anxious when he got to the last page. He hoped Reid had not actually taken him off the list like he had been threatening for years. His plan would be ruined, if so.

"Go right on in, Sir," he finally said, unhooking the velvet rope. Bernie nodded, carefully hiding the relief he felt. Step one was complete. 

He walked down the crowded hallway, nodding familiar faces. Some he had worked with for years, others just brought on as the shows grew more elaborate. He hated them all just as fiercely in that moment. He wondered how no one saw how bad things had gotten. 

_ They are probably just paid too handsomely to notice _, Bernie thought.

He heard Reid's voice long before he got to the door. His Scottish brogue was always more pronounced when he was angry. 

Well, Bernie could be, and certainly was, angry too.

He slammed the door open and took a moment to take in the scene. Reg was half dressed, curled into himself on the floor of the dressing room. His arms were raised above his face as though blocking it from harm. Reid towered over him, his face nothing less than a storm cloud. Bernie could feel the disgust radiating in the air. He himself felt like he had taken a hit to the gut.

Bernie rushed to Reg's side, gathering the man in his arms, needing to protect him from hard. Absently, he noticed just how much weight his friend had lost. 

No one deserved this treatment, especially his Reggie.

He slowly got this feet, angling his body to still protect Elton while standing. "You and I are in desperate need of a talk, it seems, Reid."

  



	3. f-it all

“Bernie, wha…”

“Quiet, Elton!,” John snapped. His foot caught Elton in the stomach. Bernie’s glare intensified, towards both Reid and himself. He thought he was in a better position. “Taupin. The very bane of my existence... What on earth are you doing here? Didn’t you leave just yesterday with your tail between your legs like the bitch you are?”

“John, please…”

“I said quiet, Elton! I will not say it again.”

“Do not speak to him that way, Reid,” Bernie snarled, surprising even himself in his venhemance. His hands were fists at his side. It took all his self-control not to clobber Reid.

“I’ll speak to him as I damn well please, thanks. I own him, Taupin, and in turn you. Don’t fuck with me. You won’t enjoy what happens to you.” 

Reid looked down at Elton and sneered. The emotional mess he had become disgusted him. “Clean yourself up now, Elton, and get back to the bloody hotel. I’ll escort your dog out and be by after the party to ensure you followed directions for once in your goddamn life.”

Bernie turned towards Elton, sidestepping Reid’s hand as it reached for his jacket collar. He wrapped his arms around Reg, whispering apologies that hopefully made sense in his ear. Reg whispered back the number 115. 

As Bernie was dragged from the room, he nodded. He would be there.

************************

“You came… I didn’t really expect...”

Bernie nodded awkwardly, stepping past Reg and into the suite. His room was pretty posh, but this was beyond extravagant. Nothing but the best for Sir Elton John it seemed... 

A beat of silence. “I am just as amazed, I assure you.”

He shoved the bottle of liquor into Elton’s hands and collapsed on the sofa. He accepted the glass with a murmured thanks, before emptying it in one gulp. He loosened his tie, wondering why he felt so uncomfortable. It was just Reg.

He took a deep breath, and turned to face him. Reid had gotten some hits to Reg’s face after Bernie had left. He wondered if it was because he had shown up in the first place, or if it was a nightly occurrence. Reg was far too clothed to know for certain. He felt his hand move on it’s own accord, and traced them gently with his fingertips. “Oh, Reg…”

“It’s fine, mate. It’s fine…”

“It’s really not, but I'll leave be.”

“All I ask.”

“Yep.”

Bernie refilled his glass, and sipped it slower this time. He really needed his wits about him. He could already feel the alcohol clouding his brain. He put his glass on the coffee table before he dropped it.

“Oh fuck it all,” Bernie muttered. He leaned over and captured a surprised Elton in a kiss.

He was always more a man of action than spoken word...


	4. Impulsive decisions

Bernie had experimented with a few blokes over the years. He had kissed (and bedded) many birds, and married two. None of those intimate times compared to the feeling of finally having his Reg in his arms, his mouth on his. Their kiss was messy and passionate, sweet and fierce, and just everything that Bernie felt lacked in his over encounters. He wished it to never stop... 

“Bloody fucking hell, Bernie!,” Elton exclaimed when they finally broke for air. 

Bernie could not help but agree. He ran his fingers through his hair awkwardly, feeling some regret due to his impulsive decision. 

“You… You alright?”

He fell backwards with Elton’s answering kiss.

“I… I’ve been waiting for this for years,” Reg said softly, looking into Bernie’s eyes from above him, searching. For what, Bernie was unsure, but he hoped was found. He hoped he was not found wanting… Not when he had finally grasped his. “I never expected it to actually…”

“I know.”

Bernie stroked Elton’s back, peppering kisses all over his face. Now that he had finally gone and done it, he found he just could not stop.

“John is going to be back soon… He never breaks his promises.”

“Threats, you mean.”

“Right. Yeah. Of course.” Elton took a deep breath. “He’s… he’s my boyfriend. I love him. I can’t do this again.”

They pulled apart slowly. Bernie felt empty, stupid. Reg was still with John. Reg still WANTED to be with John, after everything he had done.

“I’m in 317. I have a room for the week. If you need anything, just come,” Bernie said, getting to his feet. He picked up the half-empty bottle he had brought, and rushed to the door. 

He would need at least one friend tonight...

  
  



	5. Wretched man

Elton sat upon the ridiculously large bed, tracing his lips with his fingers. The smile had not left his face since Bernie had left abruptly some hours before. He found himself standing a few times, walking towards the door, then frowning. He would shake his head, and always make it back to the bed before he did something terribly stupid. Like leave the room... Like find Bernie... Like swoon in his arms like a little school boy... 

It grew increasingly difficult each time. 

Only the knowledge that John would make the evening’s torment seem like a play date if the room was empty when he returned kept him there.

He sipped at his water, for once not alcohol, because he did not want the details of this night slip his grasp. He had never felt so loved,  _ so wanted _ , as he did when he was in Bernie’s arms. John could crush him, them, quite easily. He accepted the torture because he did not want Bernie hurt. He welcomed it so that Bernie could live freely.

He really was a stupid man for allowing it to get this far.

When the door opened, Elton feigned sleep. John had sent him to the hotel with a bedtime, of course. He shuddered to think what would happen if he was found awake and smiling. He heard keys dropped on the table, clothing rustled, shoes hitting the wall, then the shower turned on. 

Elton frowned. John only showered before bed when he had shagged someone. Like that could hide his infidelity. This was not part of the normal routine.

So lost in thought he was startled when John slipped into bed. His fingers found Elton’s hair. They wrapped around Elton’s hair and his head was then guided down to John’s groin. Slipping John’s cock in his mouth, he sucked to completion. As was expected of him. Elton always did what was expected of him. 

Feeling in need of a shower himself, disgusted at far he had fallen, he allowed himself to be gathered in John’s embrace. He fell asleep with the murmured “good boy” in his ear, tears left unchecked falling down his cheeks.

He really was a wretched, wretched man.

  
  



	6. Love, or something like it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains some reference to abuse. 
> 
> Thank you to all who have read this story. The kudos and comments received are amazing!

Bernie lay upon the bed in his own suite, far more intoxicated than he had expected to be this night. He had had plans to talk. Only to talk. To check in with Reg and make sure he was truly alright. To make sure John had not harmed him beyond repair, physically or emotionally. Over the years Reg and John’s relationship had changed. There was no more devotion to each other that Bernie had been gladdened to see. Bernie and Reg had not really spoken in ages about more than work with the jet-setting life he, as Elton, now had.

The kiss was not a part of his plan.

He would never say he felt regret, though. It was the best bloody kiss he had ever had.

He brought the bottle to his lips and took the final gulp. He should pack up and go back to his ranch. There was nothing left for him here. He had without a doubt ruined his friendship with that ( _ amazing _ ) kiss. Reg had made it clear that though the feelings were reciprocated, nothing would come of it. Bernie had lost his chance with the man he loved ages ago, it seemed.

He would go back home, maybe reconnect with his ex. He would tend to both himself and his livestock. After licking his wounds, maybe he would start the family that caused the rift in his relationship in the first place. He was never meant for this life, anyway. He was not meant for anything grand.

At least, that was what he tried to convince himself.

Bernie curled up in the too large bed, feeling more alone than he had since his school days. He shut his eyes and struggled to sleep. Maybe a plan would form more clearly in the morning.

****************************

John ran his fingers gently down Elton’s back, tracing the welts he had just distributed on his pale skin. The marks, the hitching of Elton’s breath as he tried to hold back his sobs, the utter surrender of control to himself, made John feel quite powerful. He nuzzled Elton’s neck, bared in submission, his hot breath ghosting Elton’s ear. Elton shuddered quite delightfully.

“Why do you make me do such things to you, love? Why can’t you just behave?”

Elton tried. He tried so hard to please this man. With the passing of each day Elton began to feel it was impossible. Things were wonderful in the beginning. Elton spoiled John, and John made him feel wanted. That he had a semblance of worth to someone. It was enough, then. But no so now. Not since Bernie declared his feelings in action.

The conversation he tried so hard to forget with his mother on  _ that day _ in the phone booth rang quite merrily in his mind. He would never be loved properly, least of all by John.

“I’m sorry,” he whimpered, finding himself leaning further into John. Praying that this once he would not be pushed away. Left alone with his thoughts. He was not allowed to initiate contact. All contact was a gift John had drilled into his head. Sometimes it was allowed after punishment, depending on John’s mood.

That day he stood quickly, as though the touch burned him. “As you should be.” He then exited the room without any other acknowledgement of his ‘love’s’ suffering.

Elton brought his knees to his chest. The physical pain had nothing on his heart.

He had the final show in New York that evening. He had an hour at most to pull himself together. He needed to transform from the pitiful Reggie Dwight to Sir Elton John. He hated John in that moment for making it that much harder.

But he hated himself more for allowing it to happen.

  
He found himself humming '_I want love' _as he gathered his travel clothes. He needed to shower, shave, and get over himself. He had a crowd laying in wait he could not disappoint.


	7. Shocks

Bernie finished zipping his suitcase with a heavy heart. He had finished out the week as promised, barely leaving the suite other then meal times and package store runs, yet Reggie had never come. He lost quite a bit of money on this vacation from hell, and had nothing to show for it except the knowledge he was officially off the guest list for Reggie’s shows. It hurt more than he would ever express. He was a grown man, for godsake. 

(He cried like a baby for hours after finding out he was blacklisted. Not that anyone needed to know that little detail.)

He had already set up the taxi for the morning. He had phoned his ex-wife for a ride home when he landed. He even got a haircut and polished his leather cowboy boots to make a better impression when he saw her. He would live the life he was supposed to live, Reggie be damned.

Why did it have to hurt so bad?

He had stopped feeling excitement two days in whenever a knock sounded on his door. It was always the hotel staff. He swigged the last of his drink before going to the door. When he saw Reggie, his hand in his hair, fresh bruises on his skin, he dropped his glass on the floor. 

It shattered in the hallway, but when did Bernie care about such nonsense?

“Hey, mate… Can I-uh… Can I come in?”

“Right, right. Sorry. Yes, come in.”

Bernie moved aside allowing Reg to slip in. He had come to terms with never seeing him again. Yet, here he was. He couldn’t help the shock that overcame him.

Reg collapsed on the couch with a groan. “Wouldn’t have a bloody drink, would ya? Been a long fucking day.”

Bernie nodded, not trusting his voice. He poured a vodka and tonic for them both before sitting on the edge of his seat. He lit a cigarette, offering one to Reg silently. A truce offering of sorts. He took one with a smile.

“I’m glad you were still here. I’ve been a right knob, not coming to see you. Kept hoping to see you after the shows this week. It’s quite hard to slip out from under him at times, though that’s not an excuse.” Reg look a long hit. “John is at the release party for our album. I wasn’t ‘well enough to go’ or some bullshit. He really just doesn’t want anyone to see my bruises, I’m certain.”

“I tried to come see you. I’ve been blacklisted.”

“You what?”

Bernie nodded. “Apparently”

“Without you I wouldn’t even have anything to play for these bloody shows… That self-entitled twat!,” Reg stood, enraged, beginning to pace the length of the room. Bernie was thankful he kept the glass in his grip. He didn’t want to bring attention to the room or himself because of a thrown glass shattering on the bloody wall. The floor was different. 

Bernie noticed the limp Reg seemed trying to hide. When Bernie’s eyebrow rose, the wordless question he was so fond of, Reg quickly sat down. “It’s nothing.”

Bernie snorted. “Nothing, my arse.”

Reg nodded. “Right.”

Bernie refilled their glasses. He knew he should probably stop drinking. He had lost count of how many he had knocked back this night, this week. He was beginning to feel properly sloshed. 

“Are you headed out tomorrow?,” Reg asked softly, looking at the packed case.

“Aye. Going back to my ranch. Got everything set up days ago now.”

Reg nodded. 

The silence dragged on, becoming almost suffocating.

“When did this happen? When did it get to the point we couldn’t even have a conversation without it being so bloody uncomfortable?,” Reg whined, folding his arms across his chest with a huff. 

“When you allowed John to micromanage your life because you were too wasted to notice the change?”

Reg flinched. Bernie sincerely hoped he wouldn’t cry. Bernie knew he should apologize for his words. He didn’t really want to hurt Reg’s feelings, no matter how angry he was at the situation. It was Reid he really wanted to hurt.

But then again, Bernie had never been what would be called a considerate drunk…

“You could come to the ranch with me? We could sort ourselves out together, if you like?”

The silence stretched longer than Bernie had expected. He began to feel hopeful. Maybe he would not have to go on alone. Maybe he would not have to lie to himself, and everyone else, and settle like he had planned. Maybe he could actually have it all.

“I can’t leave him, Bernie. He’ll ruin me, us. You don’t understand what I’ve gotten myself into. And I pray daily you never do.”


	8. Darkness calls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I put Bernie through so much shit...

Bernie had returned to his ranch weeks ago. He had returned to the daily drudgery with a sorrowful smile. He expanded his lands, added livestock, and even began a small garden. Even with his hired hands there was much to do in regards to upkeep. He began early and labored until he felt on the verge of collapse.

It happened earlier and earlier each day now.

Maxine had come and stayed until she realized Bernie was going to die at the pace he set for himself. The fights grew more heated each day. She had professed to love him, but would not stand by and watch him kill himself with the booze and lack of real sustenance. Bernie knew she had really left again for the same reason she left before: Elton was more important than anyone else would ever be in his life. Even himself.

(It was fine. He didn’t need anyone in life anyway.)

(Maybe if he said it enough it would ring true one day.)

At least she left their pug puppy this time, so he was never truly alone.

Bernie collapsed on his sofa, a can of budweiser in his hand. He rubbed Yoda’s belly, the soft smile only his dog could bring out on his face. Maxine had never allowed Yoda on the sofa. He allowed it to spite her.

Perhaps he should consider some anger management therapy or something… 

That night he fell asleep sitting on the sofa, a lapful of chubby puppy, and static of the late night television station creating a strange sort of lullaby. He felt a sense of peace and lethargy that seemed misplaced, but he chose not to expend the energy to give a fuck.

If not for a late night visitor, Bernie Taupin would have died that night. Perhaps there will be a day in which Bernie would be grateful. This was definitely not that day...

*******************************

When Bernie bought his ranch, he gave out two keys. Neither had been used in the 6 years he owned the property. He had long since come to terms with the fact his two best friends would never enjoy the peace of country living. 

He himself had not felt the peace in years, if he had to be honest with himself. 

Honesty, though, was something he seemed to be lacking over the past few years as well. He wondered often, in the late of night, just when he had become everything he hated. He remembered sitting in Reg’s childhood bedroom, writing words that would become hits or misses in their career, promising each other they would never change. But change they did.

Waking in an unfamiliar room was not something he was accustomed to. He was not Reg. 

He blinked wearily at all the equipment hooked up to and around him. He bleak white walls that had haunted his dreams came into focus. He groaned when he saw Ray smiling cheerfully, a bright contrast from his dull eyes, from beside the bed. 

“Hey, mate! Glad to see your eyes. It’s been a while.”

“What happened?,” Bernie said, flinching at the raspy tone. 

“Nothing too fancy. Your heart stopped beating, your lungs stopped breathing. You know, the simple stuff that happens when you stop bloody caring about your body.”

“Sometimes you are a right twat…”

Ray nodded. He had been told that numerous times. “When you work this hard at it, it is jolly good to be recognized.”

Bernie sighed. “How long?”

He tapped his fingers on the chair. “Just a few days, mate, no worries,” Ray replied. 

“Ray...”

“11 days…”

Bernie nodded. No wonder he felt so shitty. 

“Mate, I haven’t heard from you in 3 months. I rang, left messages, you never called back. I finally get my schedule clear enough to come check in, come to see your digs even, and I find you as near death as could be on your couch with your little yapper growling at me. An apology would be nice, you know…”

“Yeah, maybe another day…”

Ray sighed. “You’ve bloody lost it. Elton’s bloody lost it. How did I stay sane over the years? Being around you both drives me bloody bonkers!” He paused, taking a drink from his water bottle. “Yes, Elton’s fine. I can see you’re going to ask about him. John’s still working him and treating him like a dog. I can’t get him to see sense. But Bernie, you have to let someone in. Let me help you...”

Bernie nodded. Dying wouldn't help Reg, would it? And really, what did he have to lose?

  



	9. Often

He often lost track of the hours during the course of the day. He often lost track of his location during his sold-out tours. He often lost track of the playlists during his concerts, which caused much drama within his backing band. He often lost track of which station he was interviewing with, which caused many to stop doing live interviews with him. He even quite often lost track of his last meal. John did keep him rather busy, both in his business and personal life. 

It was a wonder he was able to get through his long days at all. Without the constant stream of uppers from his loving ‘supporters’, he probably wouldn’t. 

But one thing he never lost track of was how important Bernie was to him. How long it had been since he had seen Bernie’s face. Since he had heard Bernie’s voice. Since he had left him, again.

This time, though, it was not Bernie who left him. Elton had left Bernie. It made all the difference. 

(He hadn’t even made it back before John that night. John had had to cancel several shows with long apologies before Elton could perform again without looking like a duffer. John had seemed almost regretful as he nursed him back to ‘perfect’ health. Elton knew he was not sorry for his actions, but was distressed they had lost so much money because he had lost control. It was still easier to pretend that John had cared about him, though.)

Elton sat behind his desk. John had long since retired to bed after their latest ‘argument’. Elton felt an itch he just could not seem to relieve. The physical and emotional torment waged havoc on his brain. He was a mess. A royal fucking mess. He took a long pull from his bottle of gin. Nothing seemed to help him anymore.

He stared at the phone. He had his (silver, glittery, fabulous) address book beside it. His hand had risen, then fallen back to his side, numerous times. Would Bernie answer if he called him now? Would Bernie forgive him for his stupidity? Would Bernie care that for once Elton might put himself before John and his own career? Maybe help him like he had promised? Or would the phone call do more harm to him than good at this point? 

Was he always this bloody philosophical when he was drunk?

He took a steadying breath, picking up the receiver before he lost confidence. He dialed Bernie’s number with a shaky hand. It rang once. Then twice. Then three times. At the fourth, just was he was going to hang it up, go to bed, forget about this night, he heard Bernie’s wonderful, albeit sleepy voice. He was so happy he almost forgot to respond.

“Yes. Hi. Yes, it’s me.”

“Reggie? It’s 2 o’clock in the morning, you bloody twat...”

Elton smiled fondly. Bernie still had the exasperated fondness for him, Reggie, in his voice when he spoke. He could do this. “Yeah… Listen, can we talk? You deserve some answers, and I think I’m finally drunk enough to give them.”

  
  



	10. Justice

Pictures. Bloody pictures. Most were taken without his knowledge, but all taken without consent. Bernie remembered the one Reid had leaked many years ago when Reggie was close to leaving him. Reggie crawled back to him, like a pathetic worm he had reminisced to Bernie, and after a month of damage control the picture did nothing but boost his career. A look-a-like, it was decided. There was no way Elton John would be in the middle of something so vulgar. 

Reid even went as far as suing for libel, and won. The fucking wanker.

There were many more like it, apparently, and some even worse. Bernie did not want to think about how any could have worse than Reggie in the middle of the gay BDSM cocaine orgy, but it appears there may be. _Oh the shit Reg gets himself into could fill a fucking a book...._

Bernie was quite cross, of course. It took a long while to convince Reggie his anger was NOT directed at him. That he did nothing wrong. That he loved him even with this knowledge. It would all work out, Bernie had said numerous times. He would make sure of it. Their conversation for the future, THEIR future, was cut much too short by Reid storming into where ever the fuck Reggie called him from. He always showed up at the worse possible times....

The screams he heard when the phone was dropped out of Reggie’s hand, the grunts of pain, the smacking of flesh, seemed seared into his brain no matter how hard he tried to forget them. 

The anger was like a burning flame, ready to lash out and harm all in it's way. It felt nice to feel something, after so long in a state of apathy. His counselor would be pleased.

He called the police first, Ray next, and then sped to Reggie’s house. The three hour drive felt much longer. He wished for the first time his ranch was closer to the city. He needed to get to his friend. He needed him to be okay. He needed Reid to answer for his crimes.

When he finally made it to the house, Reggie was still being treated on site. He had refused the hospital. He did not want anything leaked if he could help it. Bernie stood beside him, taking his hand in his. The flame went out abruptly. He was there, Reggie was still alive, and for now, that was what mattered.

***********************

“Reg, it’s been three days? Don’t you think you should get out of bed? Maybe hit the shower? Something?”

He only received a grunt in response.

Bernie sighed. He now knew how Maxine felt when she tried to make him see sense. It was disheartening to put it mildly. He ran his fingers through his hair. “Ray is coming soon,” he tried. “Don’t you want to look like a human being when he gets here? He’ll take the piss if you don’t.”

Reg only buried his face deeper in his pillow, a mumbled 'go away' reached Bernie's ears. He snorted. 

Bernie could only be grateful that Reid was caught in the act. He could not even get Reg out of bed, never mind to the police station.

Bernie collapsed on the bed beside him, for lack of any better ideas. He gathered his friend in his arms, his heart shattering as Reg’s heartbroken sobs began. It seemed he had actually loved the bastard. 10 years would make any heart fonder than it should be towards anyone he supposed. He wished more than anything he had gotten there before Reid was taken away. He would have loved to rearrange his face for causing his Reg such hurt.

When he finally fell asleep, exhausted from all the emotional anguish, Bernie got to his feet. He had to meet Ray when he got there and explain all that had happened, and then enlist his help to find and destroy those blasted pictures. He did not want anything to tether Reg to Reid if due process was not followed.

He would make his own justice if need be.

  
  



	11. Keep everything nice and legal

Ray fell back on the reclining chair with a huff. He accepted the tumbler of whisky with a thankful smile. They had reconvened in the parlor, receiving a ‘tea’ tray from Elton’s household ‘help’. He absentmindedly wondered the last time they prepared actual tea for tea time. Knowing Elton, probably fucking years. 

It had been a long two days. They had searched each nook and cranny the house had to offer with no luck. The house was fucking huge, and Ray felt more annoyed with each passing minute. “Mate, either he’s hiding them somewhere else, or he’s taking the piss and doesn’t have them. He has been known to manipulate situations in his own favor within the industry. Why would this be any different?”

Bernie paced the length of the room, running his fingers through his hair at random. Ray gazed at him over his tumbler. “Bloody sit down, you twit. Have a drink. You’re driving me bonkers.”

Bernie collapsed on the sofa. “Have we checked the storage shed?”

“Twice.”

“The pool shed?”

“At least 10 times.” 

Bernie rolled his eyes. They did not check the pool shed 10 times... “What about his office?”

“Four times.”

“What about the…”

“Bernie, mate, stop. We have even checked under the loose floor-board next to Elton’s bed. They ain’t bloody here.”

“Okay. Then we’ll just go to his office and…”

“And what? Break in? Mate, I get that you want to find these pictures that supposedly exist, but breaking and entering won’t do much to help if we’re bloody caught, will it?”

Bernie sighed. “No, you’re right. You’re right.”

"Usually am..."

Bernie rolled his eyes. He took a sip of his drink, and bit into a biscuit. They used to taste wonderful on his tongue. Now he only tasted the ash of failure.

“Have we talked the help? Maybe Reid has one of them hiding them... Bloody dumb if they are. Reid doesn't pay their salary...”

Bernie stood quickly. “His secretary! Reg said the other night that Reid has shagged him many times, in front of anyone who cared to watch as well. If anyone is helping Reid, it would be him.”

Ray got to his feet as well. “So I guess we are going to his office anyway. Let’s just keep this shit legal, Bernie.”

Bernie smirked. “Yeah, o’course. Wouldn’t dream of anything different, mate.”

Ray rolled his eyes. Bernie had never entirely in command of all his faculties when Reid was involved. Why would this be any different?  



	12. Dreams

Ray sat in the passenger seat of Bernie’s truck, the manilla envelope in his lap. It took a bit to convince the man to give up the photos. They did not resort to fisticuffs, which made Ray quite chuffed. He liked getting things done, lawfully. He would not have to listen to Dick’s passive aggressive reprimands and still got the job done. Dick was a thorn in his side, but as he was his boss, he had to at least pretend to respect him.

Neither man felt the need to look through the photos. They had to trust they were all there. They had to trust that their work was not in vain. Making the effeminate man cry was only icing on the cake. He knowingly aided in causing their friend heartache. Ray would never forgive that.

Working in the music industry for so long made him quite aggressive. He sometimes wondered if it was healthy. He mostly he ignored the voice negating his actions. He had to. He would not have gotten as far as he had if he hadn’t.

Bernie was quiet, almost absent, lost in his thoughts. Ray had watched him inhale 3 cigarettes in the short time they had been driving. He had tried in vain to begin conversation about what would happen now that they had succeeded. Bernie ignored him fully. Ray took a pull of his own cigarette. Letting Bernie stew was not normally a good idea, but he was too damn tired to try any harder.

His time off was quickly coming to a close. He flew back to London the next day. He had to have faith that things would work out for his friends. He did not know the next time Dick would allow him to fly off without terminating him.

_Like that would be a terrible thing_, Ray thought, tossing the butt out the window. 

He allowed visions of freedom dance in his head for a short while, before tossing them out forcibly. It would do him no good to dream of a happy ending for himself. Bernie and Elton’s, though, he would dream of every day. They bloody well deserved it.

  
  



	13. Recovery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was super hard to write... I hope it conveyed everything I hope to create. Thank you all for reading! All the comments and kudos bring me such joy!

Elton had never been a morning person. He was sent to the headmistress numerous times over his school years because of it. His mother would have to forcibly drag him out of bed each morning. His father would punish him at night for getting into trouble with his teachers. He would have a hard time sleeping because of the pain, just for the cycle to continue the following morning. 

When he finally gained enough confidence to move out of his parents’ home, it unofficially became Bernie’s job to get him going. If Elton was not present, they could hardly work, could they?

It was much more difficult for Bernie as most of his shows ran late into the night early in his career. His parents had had it easy, Bernie had always said as he dragged the larger man to the shower. He would then leave him, fully clothed and drenched with cold water in the tub, humming peacefully while Elton screamed insults, and prepared for his day.

With each painful wake-up John would administer in the morning when Elton moved him into his house, he would wish for Bernie’s more and more. A cold shower was nothing compared to a broken rib. 

John was much more like his parents’ then Elton ever would admit, even to himself.

It had been a week since  _ that night _ . Elton had barely left his bed. He was almost physically healed. He ate the food that was brought to him, took the medicine given to him, drank the liquids poured down his throat. He allowed the assistance to and from his bathroom. Snatches of conversation floated around him, tones of hysteria seemed to filter in quite often at the lack of fight left in him, yet he comprehended nothing. He felt his sanity leaving him in bits and pieces. 

He did not know how to ask for help. He did not even remember how to speak anymore. Everything he did was directed by John for so long, how could he live without him? Did he even want to?

**********************

Bernie slowly walked up the stone path, his hands in the pockets of his jeans. Reggie would either be happy to see him, or cast him out of his life again. His satchel beat a steady rhythm on his hip, the words that might become lyrics when gifted to Reggie felt like a cinder-block against him.

After two weeks, Bernie had had enough. He did not know what to do to help his friend. He realized if something was not done soon, he would be forced to see what he had done to himself from an outsider's perspective. He would not survive if he lost his Reggie... So he did the only thing he could: admitted him into the rehabilitation center that had aided in his own recovery.

The first thing he saw upon entering the center was Reg with a mop. He stopped short, blinking stupidly. He could not remember the last time he saw Reg clean anything. Nor be as happy as he looked dancing with the mop handle. 

“Surprised you remember how to use one those things,” Bernie said with a grin. It widened when Reg turned around quickly, knocking over the bucket and cursing.  _ Good ol’ awkward Reggie. _ “Though I think it is meant to clean, not be a dance partner…”

A ‘good friend’ would have helped clean up the mess, especially if it was somewhat their fault for the resulting chaos. A ‘best friend’ would just take the piss while Reg frantically mopped up the water before it spread too far. Bernie of course would always be the ‘best friend’.

After he got cleared from his chores, Reg joined Bernie outside in the courtyard. He spoke of his adventures in learning to live again. He did his own laundry, household tasks, painting, and even began learning food preparation. He spoke of his counseling sessions, both group and individual, and how he was learning to forgive himself. He spoke of his fears of even seeing a piano again, never mind actually playing. Bernie’s heart felt so full of happiness, seeing the man he loved breaking the mask he put on for the world, and just being himself, like he asked of him all those years ago.

Bernie put his hand on Reg’s thigh and squeezed tightly. “I love you, man. I’ve missed you every day. I… I’ve stayed away so long because I wasn’t sure if you would ever want to see me again.”

Reg was quiet for a long time. “If you had come right away, I might have decked you…,” Reg admitted with a smile. “I had so much hatred inside me. I didn’t think I would forgive you for doing this to me, you know. Dropping me off here, and leaving like you always did. I was lost, and confused, and I really have put a lot of blame on you over the years. But this… this was for the best. I see that now.”

They sat in silence, so much unlike the silence in that hotel room so long ago. The stillness was balm for their souls. 

Bernie stood when Reggie was called in for a group therapy session. He captured Reg’s mouth in his, a deep, lingering, passion-fueled kiss that was even better than the first. It was Bernie's promise to Reg. A promise for their future. 

He handed him the envelope, reminded him that he was a shit-hot piano player, and to get to it. 

Bernie left with a smile on his face, the picture of a blushing Reg touching his own lips with a dopey smile planted on his face imprinted in his mind. Just a few more weeks, and maybe, just maybe, their happily ever after could actually happen.

  
  



	14. Why can't things be bloody easy?

Elton stood in front of his full length mirror, surveying his reflection with a distinct frown. He had not realized in reaching milestones in his sobriety, his appearance would change so drastically. He had found magazines in the center’s library when he was tasked with returning tomes to the proper shelves, some dated 10 years back. He had secreted two away with him, both in which had HIS pictures on the covers. 

The differences were striking.

One was from the very early days. An article on his and Bernie’s rise to fame was the prominent featured story. The photo included was nothing short of beautiful. They were in their youthful prime, before any drugs had entered either of their systems. He even had a full head of hair! They were both healthy, glowing, dressed in simple blue jeans, leather jackets, and plain sunglasses. Back when Elton dressed for comfort, and not for an audience. Back when Elton cared for himself, and other people. Back when Elton was just normal twenty-something who was in awe of his life.

He barely remembered that man...

The second was perhaps a year ago. Even from behind his piano and dressed in a _ ridiculous _ costume, Elton could see how terrible he truly looked. His skin was sallow, stretched thin across his cheeks. His eyes were hidden behind dark sunglasses, no doubt trying to hide a bruise or two. His hands, so much like a _ midget boxers _ as Dick had said so long ago, and covered by the most gaudy jewelry he had ever seen, looked so _ weak _. 

He wondered how they did not break when they danced on the keys.

He had gained weight. He looked 'healthy' again. He had been told many times by the others’ in the center it was a normal reaction. He had been watched closely for the first month, too closely to be able to rid his body of the food they made him eat without a fight. They made him _ talk _ through his anxiety attacks before and after meal times instead. 

Most of the time it worked. Some of the time the poor fellow would end up wearing Elton’s dinner instead.

It had been slow going, but he could now enter the dining hall without feeling nausea. They said that was a major improvement. As Elton pinched the fat that had gathered in his midsection, he had to beg to differ. 

He could hear his subconscious, which sounded much too like John for Elton’s liking, mocking him. Mocking him for succumbing to his demons. Mocking him for thinking he could even beat them. Mocking him for ruining his career by taking this break. Mocking him for thinking he could ever amount to anything, be worthy of anyone’s love, never mind _ Bernie’s _. Mocking, mocking, mocking.

He took a shuddering breath, and raced around the room, packing what little belongings he had. He could not do this any longer. He was not strong enough. He would never be strong enough.

Against medical advice, he signed himself out that very evening. 

  


***************************

“Bernie, mate, come here!”

Bernie frowned, turning off the stove-top burner. Ray sounded quite agitated. It took quite a bit to aggravate the level-headed man. He took the final gulp of his beer, then grabbed another out of the icebox. He figured he was much too sober for whatever might have happened. 

Bernie entered the parlor and cursed. He was right. He was much too sober for this sight. Behind a piano, in a ridiculously elaborate costume, sat Reggie playing a segment for the Today Show in Times Square. 

“I thought he was in Chicago, mate?”

“He’s supposed to be,” Bernie replied. Ray flinched. He had not expected such anger in Bernie’s tone.

"Who signed him up for this?"

"The bitch himself, probably."

“So… Going to New York, I expect?”

“Yeah… Book the flights, won’t you? I’m gonna go chop some bloody firewood and pretend it’s the tit's fucking neck.”

Ray rolled his eyes as Bernie retreated to the grounds. _ And he thinks it’s only Elton who’s bloody dramatic… _


	15. Taking Care

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank to all who have gotten this far! I have really enjoyed writing this. I am very happy with how this one turned out. Comments and kudos are appreciated!

Bernie wondered when Reggie would notice him. He sipped at his bitter coffee, watching as Reg seemed to have an argument with himself. The mumbled words were indecipherable to Bernie, but they seem to make sense to him, if his nod of head was any indication. Bernie had counted 5 empty glasses in front of Reg when he sat down, and Reg was nursing yet another. Bernie could not help but glower at the waitstaff. Why would they continue to serve the clearly very drunk man? And had they come and removed any glasses before Bernie finally spotted him?

It had taken a few days, but they had finally located Reg in a not-so-great hotel. It surprised them that he had settled for ‘slumming’ it. It was so unlike Elton John that Bernie worried even more. He spent the full day down in and around the dining room until he finally spotted him in a large booth by the window. 

He was right chuffed. Ray had said it was a waste of time. His plan was to knock on every door, like that would have been simpler. Bernie had shaken his head. Reg would want full access to a bar soon enough, he had stated, and he definitely would not be opening the door for anyone even if they had found his room. 

Ray owed him a tenner.

"Campaign to kill yourself is going well, I see," Bernie finally said, having had enough of waiting.

Reg knocked his tumbler onto his lap. Bernie smirked as he listened to the colorful curses Reg seemed to have picked up over the years coming slurred from his mouth. Some of them seem to be foreign as well. It was always nice to learn new things about loved ones.

"What are you doing here, Bernie?," he asked warily, mopping the spill with his cloth napkin, as the server dropped off another drink in front of him. 

"Can't a man check in with his supposed best friend?"

"I didn't think I'd ever see you again," he muttered, pushing the rim of his cowboy hat farther down his face, then frowning as he had to push his dark sunglasses back up his nose. He had even worn a simple dark suit, trying to be as un-Elton John as possible.

He really did not want to be spotted by anyone.

Bernie could make people spot him. He felt his heart begin to race, anxiety almost overwhelming him. He knocked back the drink in one long gulp.

Bernie sat, calmly sipping his coffee, taking in his friend. His hands were shaking, his flushed skin was lined with perspiration, his whole body spasming in intervals. Withdrawal, perhaps, or maybe just pure nervousness, Bernie couldn't be sure. 

His hands twitched to give comfort, but he was not how Reg would take that. Not yet.

"And why is that?"

"Don't play stupid, Bern."

"Who said I'm playing?", Bernie asked, raising his eyebrow. _ Really, Reg could be so silly… _

"Come off it, you tosser! I know you came all this fucking way to find me and bloody lecture me for giving up and letting you down!" Reg raised his voice steadily throughout his tirade. Bernie would have been worried about such anger if his tirade did not end with a sob.

Bernie's face softened. He stood and moved to the other side of the bench, beside Reg, and took both of his hands in his. "Oh, darling, I am not angry about that. At all. I am _ worried _ about you, love. I love you, and hate to see you like this."

"You… you what?"

"I love you, Reggie. I've said it numerous times over the years. I always have, from the day in the coffee shop. I have so many regrets in this life, and one is for making you believe otherwise. For aiding in making you think that you are not worth it. Because you are, love. So, so worth it.”

“I don’t know what’s happening anymore. I’ve done two segments and two concerts in 3 days. I’m usually happy when I’m playing, but now I can’t even find joy in that,” Reg whispered. “There’s things going on in my head, I can’t explain it, I can’t run from it. I want them to stop, Bernie. But I don’t know where to start.”

“We will start by settling the bill. Then we will go up to the room I’m sharing with Ray. You will drink some water, and then bloody rest. You trust me?” Reg nodded fervently. “Then just let me handle things for a bit, okay, love?”

“Okay,” he whispered, pulling his wallet out of his back pocket. Bernie caressed his cheek, stopping his movements.

“I'll cover it, darling. Just relax and let me take care of you, Reggie,” he said.

Elton only nodded. He would not have been able to speak clearly even if he could put his feelings into words.


	16. Plan a future, or a funeral...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank to all who have gotten this far! Some action here that is heartbreaking, and may cause some triggers for some. Comments and kudos are appreciated!

“So, we got plans worked out yet?”

Bernie shook his head, lighting his cigarette. They both stood in front of the bed Bernie had chosen, watching the soft rise and fall of Elton’s chest. They had already gone through all of his pockets, even the hidden one inside of Elton’s hat, and flushed 10 small bags of cocaine and the assorted pills within 3 bottles. Bernie was still in shock that within a week of leaving rehab he had already amassed such a supply.

“Positively spiffing,” Ray snorted, collapsing in his bed. Bernie tried not to be jealous that Yoda curled up with him in an instant. He really needed to spend more time with his dog... He covered his eyes with his arm. “Wake me when you figure it out, mate. I’m bloody tired. I’m supposed to be on vacation, yunno, and I’ve been 5 different time zones in four days.”

Bernie flicked him off, even knowing Ray could not see it did not ruin it for him. He collapsed on the _ uncomfortable _ chair by the window. It had gotten quite dark, no doubt rain was in the forecast. He knew he had some time before either man woke. He knew he should at least book the flights back home. 

He closed his eyes, feeling the beginning of a headache. He followed his friends in sleep, and tried not to feel like a wanker for doing so.

******************************

_ No, no, no, no… Where are they?, _ Elton wondered, feeling panic set in. He woke in a dark hotel room that he did not recognize, hearing soft breathing of others, feeling the anxiety suffocating him. Not that the situation was something unfamiliar to him. He could not count the amount of times he awoke in strange places and stranger company. It seemed different this time, though he could not pinpoint why. He needed a line, now. He needed his thoughts to make sense. He needed peace. And every fucking thing was _ gone _.

“Elton?”

He jumped. He recognized the voice, but could not put a face or name to it at the moment. He raised his hand, knocking on his temple. “Stop… stop… stop…,” he muttered with each hit. He felt his hand taken from behind, almost gently, heard something about not harming himself, and could not help the scream that followed. This was just not _ normal! _

“The fuck is going on.” Another familiar voice. He couldn’t help but agree with the question. What the _ fuck _ was going on? A lamp was turned on, and he flinched from the glare. He fell to his knees, feeling the warm body wrapped around follow. A strong arm was wrapped then around his chest. Warm breath on his ear.

“Hey, you’re alright. Breathe, Reg. Breathe.”

“B-Be-Bernie?,” he stuttered, still fighting against the hold. Against the flashbacks. Soon the pain would set in and he would feel even more fragile than he did now. He didn’t know if he could handle it. “Drugs… where…”

“Yes, Reg, yes, it’s me. Ray is here too. Breathe with me now, breathe in, and out, and in…”

As the panic ceased and the calm began to set in, he burned with embarrassment. It was not John holding him, it really was Bernie. He had thought he dreamed their meeting. 

“We binned the drugs, mate. You don’t need them,” Ray said.

“Why would you do something so heinous!,” Elton thundered, getting to his feet.

“Because you don’t need them,” Ray repeated, shrugging.

“What I don’t need is you! Either of you!”

“Reg, you don’t mean that…”

“Like hell I don’t, Bernie! You ruin everything! First, you take your stupid break... l still say that was fucking uncalled for! You stop working with me, so my albums bomb... John beat me so bad with every fucking flop... Then you get John locked up, the only person who ever loved me! And now… Now you’ve decided to rid me of my personal belongings like you actually care!”

“But I do care, Reg…”

Elton put both fists in his hair and pulled. He pulled so hard he brought tears to his own eyes. “No. No, no, no… STOP FUCKING CALLING ME THAT!!”

It was too much. Just too much. Elton fainted.

*********************

Ray caught him before he hit the floor. He picked him up and placed him gently on the bed. Bernie was still on the floor where he had knelt to stop Elton from hurting himself when he fell to the floor. Tears fell freely from his eyes. Ray ran his fingers through his hair. 

“Bernie, you know he didn’t mean all that.”

“Yes he did.”

“He’s just having a withdrawal. You know how terrible that is on a person’s body. He’s lashing out at you because there wasn’t anyone else.” 

“You’re here, too.”

“Yeah, but I was right quiet, wasn’t I? I was in shock. I should have done more.” Ray began to pace. He did not like not knowing what to do. He had frozen. He had let Bernie take the brunt of Elton’s assault. Now Elton had passed out. They still didn’t have a plan.

“No, mate. If I can’t blame myself, you can’t either.”

“Unfair trade, mate.”

Bernie shrugged, getting to his feet with a wince. They weren’t as young as they used to be.

“I just want to help him,” Bernie whispered.

Ray nodded. He may have taken the piss a lot with Bernie and the reasoning for this trip. He may not have actually wanted to fly here and find Elton on his bloody vacation, but after seeing the mess his friend had actually become, he agreed. Something needed to give and soon. They needed a fucking plan. It had to be easier to plan a future than it would be a funeral, right? 


	17. Hope

“ _ In other news, Elton John seems to have dropped off the face of the planet. He was due to finish the tour that ended abruptly when checked himself into rehab. He played two shows at Madison Square Garden, and no one has seen him since. With the trial of his ex-boyfriend and manager beginning next week, sources closest to the star say…” _

Bernie clicked off the television with a sigh. He knew they should do some public relations shit to soothe this blow, and maybe salvage some of  _ Elton’s _ career. They returned to California a month ago. He lifted his gaze to  _ Elton _ ’s room, seeing the man still asleep. Yoda was with him. He knew if there was anything serious going on in there Yoda would alert Bernie. He was a good boy.

Upon returning to the ranch, Bernie had taken the door off the bedroom. He and Ray had been firm. It was either here, with some house rules to follow, or in a mental health facility to finally come to terms with his demons. Elton refused to accept he was truly a ‘nutter’, and agreed. Ray had “extended” his time in the States to aid Bernie as the fights had become worse over time. Bernie sported a shiner for a week, which caused Elton to realize that maybe words would work better. Bernie refused to fight with him like John had, but he would have conversation.

Bernie wondered how long it would be until Ray came clean and just told Bernie he had quit. He thought he would be permanently deaf after his lovely conversation with Dick James on the phone.

Bernie got to his feet. There was so much he should be doing. He had left the upkeep to his hired hands for so long he did not really have a place at his own home. He itched to be doing something, anything. He made a kettle of tea like the lonely housewife he saw himself as at times, and brought a tray to  _ Elton’s _ room. 

He hoped since he continuously referred to him as  _ Elton _ in his mind, he could finally actually call him Elton in person. If something that small could aid in recovery, why would Bernie fight it?

He entered the room and placed the platter on the bedside stand, hushing Yoda as he whined at being woken up. “You lazy thing,” Bernie said fondly, scratching him behind his ears. “And you are, too, Elton. It’s damn near ten.”

Elton groaned. “No one should be up before noon, Bernie. I’ve said this for years.”

Bernie grinned. “Yes, and that hasn’t ever stopped me from waking you before noon, has it?”

“Sadly, no. It’s just not proper, Bernie,” Elton said, putting a pillow over his head. “It’s just not proper to be right cheerful this early.”

“I brought you tea and chocolate biscuits. Does that make me forgiven?”

Elton stuck his hand out from under the covers, reaching towards Bernie. “Prove it. You never have chocolate biscuits for breakfast.”

Bernie laughed, but handed over the biscuit without protest. Once Elton found it was indeed his favorite chocolate biscuit he sat up, munching happily. He held out his hand. Bernie took it, and they shook hands like fools. “Forgiven.”

These were the easy days, when Elton seemed to have regressed to a childlike mentality. He was happy enough to cuddle with Yoda, under his blanket ‘fort’, and he and Bernie would exchange stories. Then there were the hard days, where Elton was so full of anger he tried to hurt himself and Bernie and Ray. Everything out of his mouth was an insult. Everything could be turned into a weapon in a moment’s time. Bernie hid Yoda in the barn on those days. Luckily, they were becoming farther in-between.

The Elton that emerged every so often, in-between those two extremes, was Bernie’s wonderful best friend. He found it more difficult to remember not to call him Reggie on those days. They wrote songs together, they watched football games, and Bernie allowed him in the kitchen those days to help with dinner. He had come a long way from the man who burnt water the first night at Arabella’s, but would never have Bernie’s skill. 

The drugs did a number on Elton. He was physically healthy, which was a relief considering how many diseases he could have communicated during the course of their career. Bernie knew there was a good chance his Reggie was truly dead. The bright-eyed, intelligent youth who despite his upbringing (or maybe because of), defied all odds and became a legend was gone. 

What was here now, though, was just as good, if not better. A 33 year old man facing difficulties that no one should have to, yet rising above them in his own time. Bernie was re-learning life every day through Elton. He was re-learning how to communicate with others, and how to use his imagination. He was re-learning how to be patient and kind, and not the jaded man he had become at just 30 years old. He was re-learning how to be excited over something as silly as chocolate biscuits for breakfast.

Bernie reached over and wiped Elton’s face with a napkin. “You gotta eat your food, Elton, not wear it, silly.”

Elton giggled over his tea. Bernie smiled. Child-like Elton would not stay long, he had not in days, but Bernie had a feeling that this day would be grand. His friend was getting better. He clung onto that hope with all his strength. 


	18. The one

“Oh, no, no, no…. I can’t do this, Bernie…”

“Of course you can, mate. You got this.”

“There is like a billion people out there!”

“Of course there are, love. You haven’t been seen in 3 months, and now you are willingly giving an interview. Boatloads of people want to talk to you. I’ve heard you’re pretty popular for some reason. If they only knew the real you...”

Elton and Bernie stood behind a curtain, Elton gazing out through a small hole he made with his hand. “Shut up, twat,” he muttered, raising a glare when Bernie chuckled. “You’ll come out with me if I ask nicely, right?”

“Depends on how nice…”

“Please, Bernie, I really need you out there with me.”

Bernie’s face softened at the sound of clear distress in his friend’s voice. “Of course I will, mate. I’ll even talk some so you don’t make a fool of yourself too bad.”

“Arsehole…”

“That’s me.”

Elton took a deep breath, pasted a smile he hoped looked real enough on his face, and walked out into the crowded room. He tried not to glare at all the flashing lights. He HATED photographers. He was doubly glad he wore his largest, most elaborate, but dark sunglasses. Bernie might have scoffed at seeing them, but he knew there was no way he could control his facial expression or eyes for the duration of this hell. Bernie sat beside him, putting a hand on his thigh and squeezing reassuringly. 

They listened with half an ear as Ray introduced them, and laid down the ground rules they had come up with since the interview was scheduled. Elton was glad he hired him on as his manager. He really was a lovely guy.

He sat and answered question after question. He felt like most of the questions were asked two or three times, as though they were hoping to get different answers, or to speak more on certain topics. He kept a cool head, having Bernie there helped immensely. When Elton could not answer a question, Bernie took over without prompt, just as Elton knew he would. 

Ray continued to watch Elton’s movements, and when he saw the distress growing after just a half hour, after numerous questions on John and how Elton felt about the final verdict, he ended the interview. John would never have done that. He would have just watched with a smirk as Elton shifted in his seat and try to answer the questions coming from all directions without having an anxiety attack. When the panic would become too much, and he would begin to stutter, looking like a right duffer, John would take him away and beat him in their room for being a fool. 

He smiled brightly at Ray as he allowed Bernie to lead him out of the room.  _ Yes, lovely guy _ …

***************************

“Bernie, did I ever apologize?”

“For what, mate?”

Elton and Bernie lay upon Elton’s bed, Yoda in between them. The goofy mutt seemed to always want to protect his owner’s integrity when they were half-clothed. Now that he was in his ‘right’ mind, his thoughts always trailed after that unexpected kiss when he was with Bernie. He had been trying so hard to break free of his ‘training’ and touch Bernie, caress his face, ghost his fingers over his chest and muscled stomach, but he could not get passed that invisible barrier. Even locked away, John ruled and ruined his life.

“Well… for being a royal cunt, o’course.”

Bernie laughed. “Not in words, mate, but in action. You are doing so well. You haven’t even begged for a drink or drug in 4 months. Your shows are better than they ever have been. You’re happy, Elton, and that’s what matters to me. And besides, you know words that aren’t on a piece of paper don’t mean much to me anyway.”

Elton nodded. That was one of the first things Bernie had said to him at the coffee shop during their first meeting. It was their mutual shyness that helped hit off the friendship that has lasted so many years. He could not help the flush that occurred at Bernie’s expected praise. He raised himself to lay upon his elbow, to look at Bernie, searching his face for any sign of deceit. He found nothing but sincerity.

“I love you,” Elton whispered. He shut his eyes, not wanting to see Bernie’s reaction to his words. 

Bernie took his hand, wrapping his long fingers around Elton’s small ones. “You know I love you too, Elton. With all my heart.” Elton opened his eyes, feeling Bernie kissing his forehead with such tenderness that tears pooled in his eyes. He had never been kissed on his forehead before like that, like he was a treasure to be protected

“ _ And all I ever needed was the one. Like freedom fields where wild horses run. When stars collide like you and I. No shadows block the sun. Oh, you’re all I’ve ever needed. Oh, baby you’re the one,” _ Elton sang with an unsteady voice, watching the tears fall from Bernie’s eyes as well. 

“Yes, Reg… I mean, Elton. I wrote that for you, about you.”

“I never knew...”

“I know.”

Elton wiped his tears away with the sheet. “You can call me that, you know. Reggie. I’m sorry for being such an arse about it.”

Bernie captured his mouth in a heated kiss, ignoring the whining of the blasted dog for having his sleep interrupted. They laughed together as Yoda jumped off the bed, walking with as much dignity as the small pug could gather, no doubt going to find Ray to cuddle with.

“I love that dog,”  _ Reggie _ said fondly.


	19. Always

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've reached the end! Thanks again for all who have come on this journey with me.

“We’ve uh… We’ve been through a lot, haven’t we?,” Bernie asked, staring at the newly stained kitchen table. He tilted his head to the side, trying to decide if it truly was his old table in a new color, or if Reggie had bought a new one to get out of the work. He nodded to himself when he saw the tag still attached to the leg.  _ Typical... _ “This isn’t my table, love.” He could not help the chuckle when he saw the affronted look on Reggie’s face.

“Of course it isn’t, Bernie. I tried, I really did, but when I sanded it I got some in my eye. That just won’t do,” he explained, putting the milk and sugar cubes on a tray.

“Of course it won’t, darling. I understand completely. Only, you said you were bored since you stopped touring, and wanted something 'constructive' to do...”

“I sense quite a bit of sarcasm in your voice, dear…”

“That obvious?”

Reggie nodded, placing the tea tray on the new table. “I really liked it. I got a great deal,” he said with a shrug.

Bernie lifted the tag, and his eyes widened. “You call 2300 dollars for a four seater a good deal, mate?” Reggie only nodded again. Bernie collapsed on the  _ cushioned _ seat. “Bonkers, I swear… Who needs cushions on a goddamn kitchen chair...”

“I do, Bernie. I do.”

“Right… Of course. Sir Elton would never stoop so low as have a wooden KITCHEN chair if he could help it…”

Reggie nodded. “Glad you understand, sweetheart.”

Bernie rolled his eyes and accepted his mug with a nod. He took a sip, trying to gather his thoughts once again. “So as I was saying, we’ve been through a lot together over the years. They’ve just passed….”

“Yes,” Reggie interrupted.

“I didn’t even…”

“Put the damn ring on my finger, Bernie.”

“I’m gonna string Ray up by his thumbs, I swear…,” Bernie grumbled, pulling a box out of his pocket. 

“We all know how wonderful you are with spoken word, love,” Reggie said absentmindedly, admiring his ring on his finger. “He just wanted to save you the hassle. Now get over here and kiss me.”

_ My old Reg might have died years ago, thanks to me, but this new one, this new one has my heart, body, and soul, _ Bernie thought, as they kissed.

“Oh, and Bern?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for always loving me... and helping me learn how to love myself.”

“You’re my everything, Reg. Always.”

"Oh, and Bernie?"

"Yeah?"

"Yoda's my best man. You'll have to find another."

Bernie snorted. 


End file.
